The landlord was a dry，tough，hard-faced old fellow(not SO very old either，for he was but just turned sixty，I should think)，who had been out with the militia in the last War with England，and had seen all kinds of service-except abattle；andhehadbeenVerynearseeingthat，he added--very near．He had all his life been restless and locomotive，with an irresistible desire for change；and was still the son of his old self：for if he had nothing to keep him at home，he said(slightly jerking his hat and his thumb towards the window of the room in which the old lady sat，as we stood talking in front of the house)，he would clean up his musket，and be off to Texas tomorrow morning．He was one of the very many descendants of Cain proper to this continent，who seem destined from their birth to ser．ve as pioneers in the great human army；who gladly go on from year、to year extending its outposts，and leaving home after home behind them；and die at last，utterly regardless of their grave being left thousands of miles behind，by the wandering generation who succeed．